Tenebrosity
by Caelitea
Summary: Once upon a time, there was a story of a couple who went mad. It did not end well. There is no one left to care, regardless. — Soul, Maka, Black Blood. Rated for dark themes and violence/blood.


**WARNINGS****: **Dark themes, character deaths, and blood (mild gore?)/violence. (Not really sure what to rate this...)

**Author's Notes: **I…don't even know. Since I'd been writing a lot of happy, fluffy things I was like YEAH ALRIGHT I WANNA WRITE SOMETHING DARK, and I wanted to write a piece for Soul Eater, since I hadn't written anything for this fandom in a while. This idea was floating around in my head, but I honestly didn't think it would flesh itself out. But it did. And the end result is…this. I…don't know what else to say about this. (Other than the fact I had the hugest problem coming up with a title.)

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**Tenebrosity **_**  
—**_ **adj**: gloomy, shadowy, or dark.  
From Latin _tenebrae_, meaning _darkness_.

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She takes a nap when the sun is out but the lights shut off and the world is dark.

_Good night, sleep tight._

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He falls asleep listening to jazz, but when the world blacks out it turns to the repetitive sounds of a clock.

_Tick tock, tick tock._

_._

There's something hazy about this situation but in the end they disregard it. Soul's in an impeccable pinstripe suit and Maka is in a tasteful black dress; he walks out of the velvet curtains adjusting his tie like he's ready to perform and she slips out of the velvet curtains demurely looking like an untouchable prize.

They sit down at the little table, smiling like they're in love but she breaks the spell long enough to question as to where they are. Soul blinks; this place is a stage and a café; it's all red and black like something out of a gothic novel but it's calm and relaxing here. He leans back in his seat and taps his fingers on the wrought iron table and says he doesn't know, but neither of them thinks it really matters.

Suddenly there are two cups of coffee in front of them; black for him, plenty of cream for her. There's a grand piano and a full shelf of classic literature and for now their curiosity and momentary boredom is satiated and nothing else quite matters.

The unseen demon of scarlet that dances quietly in the shadows grins and watches the outside world begin to crumble and fall.

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_Good night, sleep tight. Tick tock, tick tock. _

_._

Black Star, for being so incredibly obnoxious, made a multitude of friends. His personality was something that you eventually got used to; above all, he was incredibly loyal and incredibly strong.

He had ambitions to rise above God and let everyone knew it; but as time passed on he became a little more serious, a little more quiet—a little more handsome, because maybe he found someone whom he wanted to protect above all else, and—

The room shakes; Soul and Maka look up from their music sheets and books and coffee. They hear their names, but it sounds a bit like screaming and desperation but why would that be? Who is that? The voice sounds remarkably familiar and for a second Maka feels the sensation of fingers around her neck. Startled, she turns, but there is no one there. Soul feels warm suddenly; the feeling is something like being submerged in a bath but the sensation is something thicker than water. There…is something wrong here; the something-liquid is familiar, and he thinks that the deep roars are something he has heard before, albeit in a different tone of voice. The room shakes like an earthquake, then lapses into stillness.

The screams turn to curses and it echoes throughout the room, but the words are muffled and unclear so the two turn back to their music and books and coffee, blocking out the cries as they fade into silence.

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_(WAKE UP WAKE UP I KNOW YOU'RE THERE YOU LITTLE SHITS COME ON YOU WERE ALWAYS STRONGER THAN THIS I TRUSTED YOU WE ALL TRUSTED YOU WAKE UP GODDAMMIT WAKE UP!)_

_._

_Hush, hush._

_._

Tsubaki was beautiful. It seems unlikely that she and Black Star would get along so well, but maybe it was because they were so different that they were a perfect match. Black Star loved her, although it was never that overrated cliché kind of love; it was evident in his actions and mannerisms that he valued her—even more than surpassing God.

She was quiet and beautiful—an oriental beauty. She was traditional and modest, intelligent and kind, thoughtful and friendly. Like her meister she was incredibly loyal to her friends, and it was hard to think that anyone would dislike her. She was really and truly one of the best friends anyone could hope for.

The room sways. There is a harsh wind that blows through the room; Soul's sheet music flutters and scatters, Maka loses her place in the story as the wind flips the pages of her book. The two are distracted by a musical yet distorted peal that follows the wind. It sounds painfully sad, somehow; Maka puts her fingers to her lips, as if she were about to call out a name that eluded her just as she was about to say it aloud and the tears well up in her eyes. Soul stares at the ceiling and a headache begins to pound within his cranium; he knows this voice from somewhere, this voice that used to always be quietly paired with someone else's loud exclamations. A voice that was like music.

The storm passes, but the two feel deeply unsettled. Maka stumbles over to Soul and clutches at the jacket of his suit; he holds her close in a crushing hug and they tremble. But after a while, they don't remember by and they are only conscious of their close proximity and the lullaby of their heartbeats.

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(Maka Soul why why how did this happen I'm so sorry I should have noticed I should have helped why I'm sorry I'm so sorry forgive me)

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_Hush, hush._

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Kid was someone many had to warm up to at first. But once you got to know him, he was rather amusing. He was straight-laced and serious and a total symmetry freak, but that was kind of endearing once you became friends with him. Many were intimidated by him though, most likely because of his status as Shinigami-sama's son. He was grateful, his group of friends realized, to be able to have friends to lounge around with and accept him for who he was. He was really a good guy; he was someone who could balance two girls and it was unusual but nothing crass; they both loved him and he loved them both and though it was indeed strange it was something that worked because there was simply no way he could give either up them up and neither of them could give him up, either.

The room shakes as if it has been hit with something. Thick volumes fall off the shelves and the grand piano slides minimally; for a second something becomes _clear_—

Maka and Soul stand; she grabs his hand, emerald eyes frantic and fearful as his red eyes widen. They start to run and they move forward ten steps before something _breaks_ and they can't quite remember why they have so much adrenaline in their veins and why Maka is holding onto Soul.

Slowly, music pours out from an unseen record and the two slowly melt into a soothing dance. They gaze at each other like a couple in love and really they are though neither wants to be the first to admit it. Yet as they stare into each other's eyes there is something wrong with the expressions they see; there is an urgency that they don't understand but when they lean in for a kiss it disappears. Perhaps it was lust.

But for some reason, there is something lacking and empty in the kiss.

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(Soul Maka please I beg of you remember who you are can you hear me people are dying I know that you can overcome this, please, if there is anything I can do—)

_._

_Hush, hush._

_._

Liz seemed cold and uncaring at first, but once she warmed up to you she was both a big sister and a great friend. It wasn't unusual that sometimes she was sisterly to her friends because she had her own sister whom she had protected for years on the dirty streets of Brooklyn. She was most definitely tough and kickass, but there was more to her than that. She had her fear of ghosts and a liking for makeup and clothes; perhaps she gave up fear and hobbies long ago to protect those who were dear to her but now she was allowed to live freely. She was beautiful in her own right, with her scars that she wasn't afraid to show, because it represented how many times she clung onto life and how many times she clawed her way up from hell in order to protect her beloved sister. She was a warrior, and she was beautiful.

The furniture slides; Maka and Soul are thrown against the wall and they hold onto each other. Why is this happening? There is the sound of reverberating gunshots and screams; it is like the sound of war, of the battlefield, but why would such a thing be happening here?

Maka feels a stinging sensation on her cheek as if she has been slapped and her head stings, as if her hair were being pulled. Soul puts a hand to his face; the pressure that he is feeling is nauseating.

Something is terribly and dreadfully wrong, but they can't quite place what. The music wafting from the old, old record player does not halt in its smooth, coordinated rhythm.

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(WHAT THE HELL WAKE UP YOU GUYS WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? MAKA GET A GRIP OF YOURSELF AND GODDAMMIT SOUL COME BACK WHO THE FUCK DO YOU TWO THINK YOU'RE KIDDING, I KNOW YOU GUYS CAN DO THIS…!)

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_Hush, hush._

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Patty was hard to understand, but overall she was cute and fun and wild and creative. She didn't mind being taken care of and she would always be grateful for her sister because Liz protected Patty with her own life. She was simple, really; she liked happy things—most of all, laughter. But sometimes there was something crazed in her eyes and it was something that was a part of her; she didn't mind being taken care of but she knew how to take care of others too. Where her sister was weak she would pick her up; Liz raised her to be strong and strong she was. She liked her friends and she liked the world, but she couldn't help liking blood and gunfire and smoke when she was in the middle of battle.

If Liz seemed cold and cruel on the outside and was softer on the inside, then Patty was rather the opposite. She wasn't cruel, per say, but she was crass and (could be) cold and ready to blow some fuckers up. But she liked friends better, she liked being happy and she liked enjoying life.

The room lacked that, the two realized. This black-and-red room lacked real _life; _it seemed like an elaborate cage, built for some greater purpose. The room shakes again, the gunshots louder. This time, holes appear on the patterned walls as if the guns are real and the bullets are reaching them.

But the cage does not crack, and the spell does not break. They live in a fairytale romance with a hint of disturbing Mother Goose rhymes, but the evil demon has done his job well and his elaborate cage holds them spellbound.

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(YOU LITTLE FUCKERS COME ON WAKE THE FUCK UP I KNOW YOU CAN DO IT WE ALL PLACED OUR HOPES IN YOU GODDAMMIT REMEMBER US!)

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_Hush, hush._

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Blair was an intruder in their lives, but she was someone who, despite her frivolous acts and scandalous behavior, they learned to love. She was both a pet and a friend and a counselor, because she was surprisingly adept at analyzing problems and soothing emotional strains. Of course she was irritating at times and terribly outrageous, but she was mature when she wanted to and in the end, her attitude gave them something else to deal with other than the gruesome acts of war. Soul and Maka learned to value her; Soul used to chat with her about how to deal with women, and Maka used to talk to her late at night with a cup of warm milk about her father. Though she had been an intruder at first, she became an irreplaceable friend and ally.

The room glows with little colorful balls; they are pretty, but so terribly, terribly sad. Soul and Maka walk forward and cradle the little orbs in their pale hands.

The tears begin to fall and the spell begins to dissipate, but it is too late, far too late.

The scarlet demon begins to laugh, the sound drowned out by the distorted music coming out of the old, old record player.

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(Maka, Soul, please, just…come back to us…the others are already…)

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_Hush, hush._

_._

Why

Were

There

So

Many

People

Screaming

…

?

._._

She wakes up from her nap; he rises from his slumber.

But they are not in bed.

She has him in her hands as a scythe and they are coated in blood; the silver metal glints with the scarlet substance and it drips off of the tip of the blade, the sound echoing. The sky is red and the scent in the air is overwhelmingly cloying. Everything is silent, so silent, so deathly silent.

Her bright green eyes sweep around the scene; it is a vast field, empty of trees or flowers or rocks and she doesn't know where this is.

But—

The figures and lumps on the ground seem…oddly familiar, but neither of the two can quite concentrate on those just yet, because the sheer amount of blood is horribly astounding. How? Why? The gray corpses that float atop the ocean are piled up like junkyard garbage and the scene is heartbreakingly and disgustingly sad. Only a true monstrosity could commit such an atrocious crime—but why did it spare two people?

…

Suddenly, they feel very, very cold.

Maka knows she should move forward and inspect the corpses, but something tells her that she'll regret it if she does, yet if she does not look she will question herself to insanity. Soul takes to human form, and the scene is even more nauseating to his human senses.

(She can't move.)

The two realize that their clothes are stiff with blood, like they had gone swimming in the stuff. The blood is caked onto their skin as well and swirled into it are traces of black ink that oozes from their own minimal wounds.

The situation seems much, much grimmer, although it was not as if there was much hope to begin with.

The two feel heavy, weighed down, and it doesn't quite seem like the work of the blood alone.

(He can't move.)

The sky is black and the moon is nowhere in sight so why can they see, so clearly, the carnage in front of them? Why won't the sky _block this out_ why did it allow this to happened _where were the gods where was Shinigami-sama_ they can't move they don't want to—

Something shakes; they involuntarily take a stumbling step forward, slipping on the wet ground and sinking to their knees. Maka cannot bring herself to lift up her head; she stares at the endless red in front of her and trembles. This time, Soul is in no position to offer comfort; he stares at the mounds of bodies before him and shakes.

Slowly, heads and bodies begin to topple down from the pile. They are mangled and the partners can see the whiteness of the bone through the red flesh but because they spent so much time together _they know who these are_—

Screams rebound inside their heads, frantic pleading echoing in the ears and red tears flashing before their eyes; they danced obliviously in that gothic room in their impeccable evening attire while the world burned, and every time they began to wake they simply crawled back into bed and forgot about the world burning around them.

The monstrosity did not spare them; it consumed them and corrupted them from the inside out and extended its blackened fingers to impale the purities and consume their flesh.

Maka tries to keep herself from vomiting as she crawls through the red sea, her fingers brushing against soft lumps that disrupt the fluid smoothness. Soul stands and stumbles, and when he trips he stays down and stares into the mournful dead eyes of a face he tries to recognize.

Sinews of muscle lay in pools of blood and shards of ivory bone jut out of bruised skin. Half of the faces are sunken it without the support of the cranium, holes punched into the stomach to reveal the pinkish interior of fresh organs. And then there were the expressions—if they still retained the eyes to show them—that were glazed still with horror or pure sorrow.

And all of these mangled corpses were the faces and bodies of their friends.

They scream; they scream until their throats are ripped raw and their lungs burn as they drown—  
but there is no one else left in the world to care.

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_Hush, hush._

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They

_Wake up_.

But the world is blacker than before.

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The demon of scarlet laughs heartily as he leans back in his cushioned seat, clapping his clawed hands with glee and an appreciative smile on that cruel, cruel face of his.

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**(Once upon a time, **

**There was a story of a couple who went mad.**

**It did not end well.)**

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**End Notes: **The "weird feelings" that Maka and Soul get are correspodent with the real world. Maka felt herself being strangled/slapped/her hair pulled because her friends were trying to pin her down/talk/slap some sense into her in the midst of battle. Soul felt warm/pressure on his face because he was getting coated in blood, and Patty pinned him down by the face for the same reason Black Star/Liz pinned/slapped Maka.

Shinigami-sama, or any of the other Death Scythes for that matter, are not present because Soul and Maka killed them too. Technically I'm not sure how exactly Shinigami-sama or Kid would die, seeing as they're Death Gods, so…I guess I'll just leave that open. As for what happened to Soul and Maka after this...I'll leave that open too.


End file.
